


arm round my collarbone

by radialarch



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sometimes I Think You Like Getting Punched
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3416948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishmael goes to sea. Steve looks at the way his hands are shaking under a lamppost and goes to Eddie’s.</p><p>[a Fight Club AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	arm round my collarbone

The first rule of fight club is —

Well.

Steve finds fight club like this: he gets beaten up. That’s not unusual. When it’s over he has blood on his hands and blood on his teeth and the others are gone, laughing.

Someone pulls him to his feet, and it’s not Bucky but a stranger. He’s laughing, too, but kindly.

“Tell you what,” the man says. He looks Steve up and down and his gaze is pleased. “Next time you feel like fighting, come down to Eddie’s. The basement, after ten. Tell him Durden sent you.”

“I don’t—” Steve starts to say, but the man’s already walking away. Steve wipes the blood from his mouth and dusts off his knees and goes home.

*

Bucky sighs when Steve comes back with bloodstains on his shirt, and starts heating up some water. Steve unbuttons his shirt one by one and thinks, _Eddie’s, after ten_.

“Who was it this time?” Bucky asks.

“Don’t know,” Steve says. It’s a familiar ritual. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Lemme look at you.” Bucky pulls Steve down into a chair under the light and tips Steve’s head up. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Steve swallows down a hiss when Bucky’s thumb carefully brushes over his bruised cheek. “‘s nothing.”

“Steve.” Bucky’s eyes are dark and worried, and that’s not part of — that’s not —

“Don’t,” he says brusquely, and shifts out from under Bucky’s hands. “It’s fine, alright?”

Bucky’s shoulders are tight and his mouth is a thin line, but he nods anyway. “Alright,” he says. “Yeah.”

*

 _Eddie’s, after ten_.

Steve is good for two days. He doesn’t pick fights. He paints signs for the WPA and the stains on his hands wash away easily with water.

Then there’s a girl, and two men who scatter far too easily, and the beginnings of a fight boiling under Steve’s fingertips without anywhere to go.

Ishmael goes to sea. Steve looks at the way his hands are shaking under a lamppost and goes to Eddie’s.

The name “Durden” makes Eddie’s eyes crinkle up knowingly. He leads Steve to the basement but refuses to go down himself.

Steve walks down the stone steps into a roar.

Durden is there, leaning against a column. At the sight of Steve, he shouts, “New blood!”

The men go silent. They look at Steve, parting in a wave.

“No shirts, no shoes,” Durden says. “You wanna fight, kid? Fight.”

A man emerges from the crowd, bare-chested. He reaches a hand out at Steve.

Steve shucks off his shirt, steps out of his shoes, and takes his hand; and the ring of men closes around him.

*

 _Sometimes I think you like getting punched_.

A fight is clean. He is only aware of the body, of movement like music. He bleeds freely and it’s a reminder that he is alive.

So yeah. Maybe he does like getting punched.

He always punches back.

*

Steve starts going once a week. Twice a week. He goes before the blood’s washed out of his trousers, with cuts still healing on his skin.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

Steve looks at Bucky in the eyes and shakes his head.

*

Steve’s fighting tonight. His hair falls sweat-slicked into his eyes and he’s panting from a blow to his ribs — but he’s on his feet and the next man’s making his way into the ring.

Steve goes very still. “Bucky?” he says.

Bucky just grins tightly at him and kicks off his shoes.

Steve can’t fight Bucky — Steve can’t —

But Bucky’s heading at him, a fist clenched tight and aiming for Steve’s ribs. Steve steps back and bring his hands up. And then it’s easy, just his body and Bucky’s, circling each other like this is a dancehall.

Steve loses track of how many times Bucky hits him. How many times he hits Bucky. He can see Bucky bleeding from a cut above his eye and knows he’s bleeding, too. His breaths come short in his chest.

He’s aiming a fist at Bucky’s jaw when Bucky slips and goes down. Steve’s on him in an instant, straddling his chest, one hand on Bucky’s throat.

“Tap out,” Steve croaks. His throat is very dry. “Tap out, Buck.”

Bucky gives him a blood-stained smile. His hands are still at his side.

Steve hits him, short and fast across the cheekbone. Bucky’s breath huffs out of his chest, but his hands are flat on the ground.

“Is that all you got?” Bucky says.

Steve’s next blow splits Bucky’s lip. And he keeps going.

His vision is blurred. He can feel the skin over his knuckles scraping against Bucky’s teeth. He’s lost feeling in his arms a long time ago.

Bucky’s eyes have swollen shut by the time Steve rocks back on his heels. “I’m out,” Steve says. “I’m done.”

*

They walk home together. Bucky has to lean on Steve’s shoulder because he can’t see.

Steve starts heating up water and goes to strip Bucky down. “Why’d you do it,” he says. His voice cracks. “Damn you, Bucky.”

“Did you like it,” Bucky says in a rasp.

“What kind of question is that,” Steve says. He hauls Bucky into the tub and pours water over his head, his blood-spiked hair.

“I did,” Bucky says.

Steve freezes. His hand is on Bucky’s bare shoulder. He stares at that, his fingertips digging into a bruise forming.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Look at me.”

Steve does. Bucky’s eyes are slits and there’s blood trickling down his temple. But he’s not shaking at all when he reaches out to cup Steve’s head in his hand and pulls Steve in.

There’s the fresh taste of blood on his lips. Bucky kisses like he fights, always asking for more, and Steve gives and gives until he feels like he’s been drained completely.

“Bucky,” Steve says, tired. “I don’t know if I can —”

Bucky laughs, very softly. “Do you think I care?” he says. “I just want to know—”

“Know what?”

“That you need me like I need you.”

Bucky says it very fast, like he’s ashamed of it. And Steve finds that he suddenly can’t speak — he clears his throat and presses his nose to the crook of Bucky’s neck, hugging him tight. He’s squeezing Bucky all over, and it must hurt, but Bucky just gives one tight groan and stays very still.

“You big lug,” Steve says, one word at a time. “I’m always gonna need you.”

He kisses Bucky again, sweet and slow. The water in the tub is swirling pink, and he doesn’t know whose blood it is but it doesn’t matter. It’s never mattered.

*

The first rule of fight club is —


End file.
